


Full Circle

by charmed310



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV First Person, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmed310/pseuds/charmed310
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeping a relationship secret with a high-profile figure like Harry Potter isn’t easy, especially when Rita Skeeter strikes again!</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Harry: Public Figure/Celebrity and Broomstick Tester; Draco: Page Designer at the <i>Daily Prophet</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momatu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momatu/gifts).



> For [Prompt # 132](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NnIZtnyWEqbQHgi3U6N1CwbznCTkDeZGWJqgEw6KRrQ/).
> 
> Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ mods for being so patient with me! Big hugs to my beta HH; and to _momatu_ , I hope you enjoy it!

:-:

I swallow my mouthful of wine and bend to kiss Harry again. The living room in his flat is cool, but my body is warm as I lean over him, smiling against his lips. 

We’ve both had enough wine at this point, and we’ve lingered over the kissing stage for weeks now. Tonight, I want to suggest that we take our relationship to the next level. If Harry refuses, well, I suppose I’ll cross that bridge if it comes, but for now I plan on treating Harry so nicely, the only words that will fall from his lips will be ‘Yes, yes, _yes_!’

It’s not that I _need_ to have sex with Harry to prove anything, I just feel like it’s time for more. If he doesn’t, if all he wants from me is a kissing partner and clandestine dinner dates, I’m definitely not the man for him. It would be unfortunate, though. I want to be closer to him. It was ten minutes into our first date when I realised just how special Harry Potter is, and what an idiot I’d been to him all those years ago at Hogwarts. 

I’m trying very hard not to let myself fall in love with Harry in case he doesn’t stay, but it’s more difficult every day, and I’m fairly sure I’m in denial. I want to shout it from the rooftops that we’re together, but as he’s in the public eye so often, Harry prefers to keep his personal life private. The public would also expect him to be with a woman; definitely not me. I once jokingly said to him that I felt like his dirty little secret, but I don’t want to push him into anything he isn’t ready share. He’s already explained the tidal wave of abuse we’ll receive, and though I agree with him, I wish I didn’t have to.

Harry lies on his back on the couch as I kiss him, supported by several cushions, and I let my hands wander over his body, touching his thigh, his hip and his belly, sneaking up under his shirt.

He moans softly when I move my lips to his neck, tasting the slight saltiness of his skin before I undo the top button of his shirt with one hand, the other resting softly against his ribcage. I can feel his heart racing, and I smile.

I undo the next two buttons, exposing more kissable skin. I get to my knees and straddle him, noticing how he keeps his eyes closed as I undo the rest of his shirt buttons and spread the fabric apart to reveal his chest and flat belly. 

This is the most naked I’ve seen Harry and my cock takes keen interest. I really, _really_ want to continue undressing him, but I leave the decision up to Harry. I lean down again to kiss him, taking care to press my hips into his, a clear indication of how hard he’s made me.

His eyes pop open and he stops kissing me, his face bright red. This wasn’t quite the reaction I was hoping for, but something about the innocence of it gives me inkling. I don’t want to come right out and ask, however.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah,’ he gasps. ‘Sorry.’ He grabs me around the neck and pulls me down again.

I stop this time and sit beside him. I look at him seriously, though I take his hand and stroke the back of it with my thumb to soothe him. ‘What’s the matter?’

Harry blushes even more furiously. ‘Nothing,’ he says.

‘Then why are you rapidly becoming the shade of a brand-new Quaffle?’ I ask, grinning cheekily at him.

He scowls slightly, but seems to steel himself. He takes a deep breath and says, ‘I know what you want.’

It’s not an accusing statement, but I am a little taken aback by his bluntness, so I play dumb. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he snaps, and I can tell he’s even more ashamed than he was before. 

If I’m right, he doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of. If anything, it arouses me even more. I just need to _know_.

‘Harry, please tell me. I can’t help, or stop, or start anything if I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,’ I say, taking his other hand in mine. 

‘It’s not you. Just… don’t judge me,’ he says. 

I shake my head and resist the urge to smile in case he thinks I’m making fun of him. He drops his eyes to his lap.

‘OK, well I, er, I’ve never actually had sex.’

There we go. 

I smile warmly and squeeze his hands. ‘Is that all? Why didn’t you tell me before?’ I ask.

‘It was never really the right time, and I was nervous I suppose.’ He catches my gaze and bites his lip. ‘You never asked.’

I sit back against the couch and sigh. He’s right. I could have asked, but I always assumed the opposite.

‘Well, I knew you weren’t hugely experienced. I thought that maybe tonight I could find out what you really wanted from me,’ I say.

‘I don’t understand.’

It’s now my turn to blush. ‘You’ve kind of been leading me on a bit, to be honest. Six weeks and no suggestion of, er, touching, far less foreplay. I just wasn’t sure if we were going anywhere.’

Harry looks at me apologetically, his eyes tight. ‘Are you angry?’ 

‘No way.’

He smiles wryly anyway. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s hardly your fault. I could have asked.’ I place my arm around him and rest my forehead against his. ‘I’ve enjoyed our _non-sexual_ relationship so far,’ I tease. ‘You’re a brilliant kisser.’

He smiles and he pulls me towards him again to illustrate the point.

We pull away gently, and I nibble on his lower lip. I’m now burning to ask another question. I hope he’s sufficiently over his embarrassment and can be honest with me.

‘So, when you say you’ve never had sex, you mean never with a man, is that right?’

Harry shakes his head and though I’m surprised at this, my stomach gives a delicious leap.

‘You’ve never had sex _at all_?’

He frowns. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

‘On the contrary, it means you’re untainted,’ I say with a wink, and Harry blushes again but smiles.

‘It’s not for some noble personal reason is it?’ I ask, wrinkling my nose at the thought. We’re gay men and it’s the twenty-first century; he can’t be saving himself for marriage.

‘No, no. I mean, I was rather distracted when most people figure this kind of thing out. I always knew I was gay, so afterwards, it didn’t much appeal to me to try with the girls who _were_ interested, and the blokes, well, that was mostly dinners and films and kissing, and perhaps a little et cetera.’ 

He grins and blushes becomingly again, and I feel a stab of jealously at the thought of him with another man doing the things _I_ want to do with him now.

‘And I was definitely afraid of accidental magic if I got too comfortable with anyone. Sometimes I do spells in my sleep,’ he says.

I laugh, imagining his clothes emptying themselves from their cupboards, or his alarm clock quick-stepping across his bed. 

‘So I’ve only ever been with Muggles.’

I sigh. ‘Dating Muggles is so lonely.’

He looks at me incredulously. ‘You dated _Muggles_?’ 

I laugh slightly. ‘Well, yeah. One or two; usually after a bad break-up. Muggles just seemed so much less complicated, but it ended up just being a lie. The hiding wasn’t worth it for me.’

Harry looks uncomfortable and I stroke his face. 

‘I don’t mean you. I know why you want to keep it private.’

He smiles. ‘When we started dating, I knew I wouldn’t have to try to impress you, or hide anything - you know me in a way other people don’t. I could never date anyone who only knows me as a celebrity. Experience taught me that no one actually cares that I’m a person called Harry who likes a lie-in on a Saturday and treacle tart; they want glamour and luxury and trips on fantastic holidays.’ He pauses, looking sad. ‘I’m… I can’t give anyone that.’

‘You were always much more than that to me, Harry.’

He looks at me with a strange glint in his eyes for a few moments before speaking again. 

‘I also didn’t think that much of the other men to want them to be my first time.’ 

My stomach jolts as I register what he’s said and I’m speechless. Is he saying he wants _me_ to be his first? I find it difficult to breathe for a moment. 

I lean forward and kiss him again. I can feel him respond and I know he wants me to go further, but it’s time for me to go. I won’t push him, especially not tonight when he’s already vulnerable having admitted so much to me. I pull back reluctantly as my body is quite keen to carry on.

‘I’ll never expect more than you’re willing to give, you know that?’ I tell him. ‘I don’t want you to think that sex is all I want from you - I mean, I do want it, but not until you’re ready.’

He looks a bit sad again, and I hug him. 

‘I’m going to head home now, and I’ll think about you. Will you think of me?’

‘Always,’ he replies.

At the door, Harry stops me. ‘How will I know?’

I grin. ‘When you can feel so angry with me your skin burns and you want to tear my face off, but the mere thought of life without me is unbearable and you’d rather spend your life angry with me than not at all.’

Harry copies my grin. ‘D’you feel that way about me then?’

I run my hand down his face, my thumb tracing his lower lip, still pink and swollen from all the kissing. 

‘I always have.’

:-:

It’s early on Thursday morning when I walk into the _Daily Prophet_ ’s main office. It’s difficult to keep the smile off my face and I’m grateful that the place is still quite empty at this hour. I can’t stop myself from thinking about Harry.

After meeting me for a quick breakfast at a café nearby, followed by a very unhurried kiss goodbye, Harry has gone off to test the prototype of the next Firebolt model. Though he could have easily played Quidditch professionally if he’d wanted to, Harry prefers just to dabble in the brooms as a test-flyer. It keeps him fit and from becoming too bored between his public appearances he says. I certainly appreciate the fitness.

Despite the hour, I actually prefer to get to the office as early as possible to make any changes the editor may ask for to my layout, which they leave for me on my desk. There are always a few last minute requests, like placing an advert for Kneazle kittens next to the piece from the latest Hippogriff show, and possibly making the photograph of ‘that drummer bloke from the Weird Sisters’ a bit smaller. Nothing crazy. Usually.

It’s about seven thirty when people begin trickling into the office. I’m absorbed in what I’m doing, getting the _Evening Prophet_ ready for the final review before sending it to the printers. Hopefully nothing else terribly exciting happens during the day to be reported this evening. Harry’s asked me to meet him for dinner and I want to get out of the office before six.

‘Draco?’

I look up to see my colleague Lyra standing over my desk, a rolled up _Prophet_ in her hand and I realise I haven’t seen today’s edition yet. I then notice how pale and terrified Lyra looks.

‘What happened?’ I ask, and I’m certain someone important has died. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You need to see this.’

She lays the paper down on my desk and I see what she’s talking about. 

My blood turns to ice and I am going to be sick. I’m going to lose the breakfast that Harry and I shared this morning and it’s going to end up all over my desk. 

I stand up quickly, still staring at the image on the page before me.

It’s Harry and me on the front page of today’s _Daily Prophet_ , already distributed to the masses, caught in an embrace, our eyes closed as our lips and tongues meld together. It’s lascivious. It has no right being on the front page of any publication, far less the one _I_ work for. I can’t even turn to page three to see exactly what they’ve said about us, but the headline reads: 

**THE BOY-WHO-LIVED LOVES… BOYS? POTTER SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY MAN.**

It’s not obviously me in the photograph, but these people in the office who see me every day recognise me immediately; my friends and my parents will recognise me immediately.

Rage flares in my chest at this. It’s embarrassing, even for the _Prophet’s_ standards. No doubt Rita Skeeter has everything to do with it. When I find her… 

I look up to find that the entire office is staring at me. I look at the picture again and I can feel the edges of my vision begin to blur as my stomach sours further. 

I’m not only going to be sick, I’m going to faint as well and fall in the sick. The idea of landing face-first in half-digested omelette does not help my cause.

I have to sit down. I reach blindly for my chair and fall into it. 

‘Where did this come from?’ I ask in a whisper.

‘I don’t know,’ Lyra replies. ‘Barnabas must’ve added it last night after we left. Wouldn’t have been difficult.’

I’m not only horrified that our photograph has ended up in the paper, I’m stunned that we were captured on camera so easily. We’d been so careful to stay hidden for Harry’s sake, but on the day the photograph had been taken the weather had been so nice, I couldn’t resist dragging Harry for a walk outside.

This is all my fault.

The _Daily Prophet_ buys so many images from photographers, it’s rarely possible to find out which one is responsible. Most of the time when they’ve sold a celebrity’s photos to a publication, they choose to remain anonymous after collecting their huge sack of galleons. 

The photographer would also not want to be openly associated with Rita Skeeter as Harry was forced to put a restraining order on her a few years before and had her charged with harassment. 

Of course, she would find a way to get back at him and prove that he couldn’t escape his fame no matter how hard he tried. She’s immune to further legal ramifications however, as she turned herself in as an Animagus to the authorities and paid her hefty fine with the profits she received from _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_. 

Hideous fucking woman. The _Prophet_ is the only paper who publishes her anymore, and I can never stomach reading her articles when they come my way to be placed in the paper. I want to slap her; her, the photographer _and_ Barnabas Cuffe in the face with a huge sack of galleons. 

There is no way Harry won’t see this. 

_Fuck._

Harry’s owl cancelling our dinner this evening comes before I get a chance to write to him myself explaining. I do anyway, but I feel like he may be too upset to read my note.

Usually as a page designer, I’m one of the last people to see the paper before it goes to print and he knows this. Obviously he thinks the worst and I can’t help but feel disappointed and hurt that he’s jumped to conclusions. I’m terrified to get in touch and make things worse.

I understand, of course; the barrage of abuse must be insane, and my mood sours considerably throughout the day until I’m snapping at everyone in the office, even our intern Catherine, who has never done anything to me but be too helpful and efficient.

I leave the office at lunchtime for the day, glaring at Barnabas, daring him to stop me. He hasn’t had the decency to apologise to me. His assistant eventually came to my desk and told me ‘All publicity is good publicity, Malfoy. We’ve sold more papers today than we have in the last month!’

I resist the urge to curse his arse on to his face.

I go straight to Harry’s flat but he’s not there. Or at least he appears not to be.

‘Harry, if you’re there please don’t be angry. I had no idea.’ I feel foolish speaking to his door, especially when a couple passes behind me on the way out, but he needs to know.

When I arrive home, I’m so shocked to see Harry sitting in my drawing room, I believe I actually squeak.

He seems surprised as well, but it’s hidden beneath his obvious anger. He stands up still glaring at me.

‘I wasn’t expecting you to be here so early. I came collect the jacket I left here last week,’ he says, holding up the leather jacket he’s left on my sofa that I’ve shamelessly held up to my nose before going to bed every night since.

I’m annoyed that he felt it was all right to break into my home, but I also understand him never wanting to speak to me again after what he read in the _Prophet_.

‘I need to talk to you,’ I say. 

‘Well, I think it’s a little bit late for that, don’t you? How could you let this happen?’

‘Harry, I don’t know what more I can say. If I’d known I’d have told you, you know that. What purpose would it have served me to-- to out you like that?’

‘Brought back a lot of great memories, this,’ he says, his tone harsh and mocking. I cringe. I know what he’s thinking.

‘And didn’t you ask me just a few weeks ago why I kept you as… what did you call it? Oh, right, ‘my dirty little secret’. For fuck’s sake, Draco, I asked you to have dinner with me tonight to tell you I want to let my friends, my family know about us! And I wanted you to be there when I did!’

He sits back down on my couch, roughly running his fingers through his hair in frustration. I badly want to sit beside him and comfort him, but I’m afraid he’ll push me away even more.

‘No point now,’ he says bitterly. ‘I’ve had at least forty owls already: loads of Howlers, the odd curse; and weren’t those fun to deal with. One woman threatened to remove my balls for ‘wasting my seed’ on the likes of you.’

I’m horrified. I haven’t had any hate mail yet, but the _Daily Prophet_ has a strict policy on destroying Howlers before they reach their intended subject. It’s bad for news, they say.

I feel so guilty it makes me nauseous again. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘What can I do? How can I fix this?’

Harry smirks. ‘All the Memory Charms in the world can’t fix this.’

He turns away from me but I don’t miss the sadness in his expression. ‘Just once, I wanted something for myself, something I could be happy about and not have to share with half the fucking planet.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t know why I even bothered.’

‘Don’t you think I know that?’ I snap. I’m so hurt by Harry’s words and his refusal to accept my explanation that I lash out at him. ‘This isn’t my fault!’

‘You design the fucking newspaper! How could you miss it?’ 

‘It’s not like that. Cuffe, he- he’s only ever concerned about selling papers. That’s _me_ on the cover too, in case you didn’t notice over the size of your ego!’

I know I’ve gone too far, but Harry is being an arsehole and I can’t keep myself together any longer.

‘How do you think _I_ feel, knowing that my boss cares more about selling papers than for his staff?’

We glare at each other for a long time, and it feels like we’re back at Hogwarts until Harry looks away, distracted by noises coming from outside in the street. I go to the window and see a crowd of people standing on the pavement near the doors of my building, reporters and photographers chief among them.

‘Great,’ I mutter.

Harry gives me a withering look and turns his back on me. I can see from the droop in his shoulders and the way he hangs his head that it’s over. He’s finished.

‘I’ll see you around,’ he says. Then he’s gone.

I grind my teeth, and take a deep breath, willing away the misery. I cast spells to deaden the sound of the people outside and go into my bedroom. I strip off my clothes and step into a scalding hot shower and scrub. Mother always said that when one receives bad news, the best thing to do is to wash it away in the bath. 

I also plan on drowning it with a bottle or two of Pinot Noir.

On Friday morning I go into the office hungover and, against my better judgement, open yesterday's paper to page three.

_**The Boy Who Lived has taken up with another boy!**_

_By: Rita Skeeter_

_Sources say that Mr Potter has been regularly seen in the company of men during romantic dates at Muggle restaurants and theatres, though he attends all Ministry functions and charity events dateless._

_Is the Chosen One ashamed of his chosen lifestyle? Will the invitations to grand Ministry balls stop? Will he be asked to step down from the boards of the very prominent charities on which he sits?_

_Witnessed walking along a little-used path in Hyde Park, this image was captured showing Mr Potter in a very intimate clinch with a Daily Prophet employee who shall remain nameless for his protection._

I can't read any further and I crumple up the newspaper and bin it. 

When I see Rita Skeeter walk by my cubicle later on in the day, dressed in some revoltingly bright colour as usual, I don’t resist the urge to send a Tripping Jinx her way.

:-: 

One full week goes by, extensively marred by reporters following me _everywhere_. Those who didn’t know who I was when the photo was first printed have found out extremely quickly and the hate mail arrives at my flat. I spend all my evenings chucking them all in the fire (before making sure none are from Harry) while I guzzle alcohol and eat junk. It is hideously difficult to even try to recover from Harry splitting up with me when I’m reminded of it every day.

My friends come round to commiserate, though everyone is very surprised that Harry and I were even together based on our history. I shake my head sadly at their questions.

‘Some wounds run too deep I suppose.’

I’m advised to leave my job by my parents, but I don’t. It would be worse to make it public that this has hurt me like it has. I also think of Harry. Now that he’s publicly gay, I feel like my resignation would make him feel ashamed of it, and I don’t want that for him.

I studiously avoid Barnabas Cuffe at the office however, certain I will hex him if I get too close, and he mostly sends his assistant to me with his instructions. Most of the staff, however, seems to be on my side, and one or two have actually resigned. Lyra tries to joke that they clearly have far more scandalous secrets than me, but I can’t work up more than a wry smile and she stops.

On Friday night I go out, determined not to think about Harry and how he’s handling the pressure, but as I traipse through Muggle London with Pansy, Lloyd and Warren, every head of messy dark hair catches my eye. 

I soldier on for a few hours in the club in Covent Garden my friends take me to, but it’s not even midnight when I sneak my way out, feigning a trip to the loo. The others will understand and keep quiet about it. It’s why I chose to go out with them.

The crowds that have been lining the street below my apartment building have dispersed for the night and I’m able to let myself in the front door before Apparating to my flat upstairs. With a large sad sigh - which has been my new way of breathing since Harry left - I remove my jacket and hang it up and toe off my shoes. I think about having another drink but dismiss the idea just as quickly. Dealing with a hangover on top of a breakup only makes both more abhorrent. 

Out of the corner of my eye I see movement and within seconds my wand is drawn. If it’s a reporter or photographer, I will not be responsible for my actions.

Lights flare and I see that it’s neither. It’s Harry.

‘It’s just me,’ he says.

‘Fucking hell, Harry! Are you out of your mind? I could have killed you!’ I shout at him. My heart’s still racing while the hand gripping my wand tingles uncomfortably with unused magic.

What is he doing here? He’s made it quite clear that he doesn’t want to see me, nor does he trust me, and I’ll not have that.

‘Do you make it a habit of breaking into ex-boyfriend’s houses just to fuck with them?’ I snap.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he says quietly. ‘I just have a few more things to say, and I didn’t want to put them in a letter.’

‘Like what?’ 

Maybe I will have that drink after all. I go to the kitchen and he follows silently. I pour myself a glass of wine, but don’t offer him one. 

‘I’d like to get to bed at some point tonight, so if you don’t mind…’

Harry looks up at me, his gaze hard. ‘I’ve never been angrier with you in my life than I was this past week, which is saying something, given how long I’ve known you.’

I take a deep gulp of wine, trying to steady my nerves.

‘I stormed out of here, fuming. I was so angry my skin burned with it and I could have torn your face off.’

Oh. 

‘But then,’ Harry says, taking a step towards me, ‘but then, I realised that despite it all, I didn’t want to live without you in my life. I _don’t_ want to live without you.’

_Oh._

Before I can open my mouth to speak, Harry has closed the space between us and his hands are around my face, and I’m putting the glass of wine down and we’re kissing, hard and messy and full of need.

It’s perfect.

‘Show me,’ he pants, pausing to kiss my throat. ‘Show me how to love you.’

Bloody fuck, I think, and I feel as speechless as I did the night he hinted to me that he wanted me to be his first. My heart is racing again and I think of all the possibilities: all the things I want to do to him and the sounds he’d make; I wonder whether he wants to fuck me, or if he’ll let me fuck him the first time. 

I’m dizzy and I sway in his arms but he holds me steady.

‘Please,’ he says desperately. ‘I’m so, so sorry I doubted you. I knew better, but I felt like something so important had been stolen from me, and I took it out on the only person who understood.’

I smile and kiss him softly. ‘I forgive you.’

I take a deep breath and kiss him again, dictating a slow, smouldering pace. He shivers as I slide my hands down his neck, his shoulders, and his arms. I take his hands in mine, threading our fingers together.

‘I’d like to take you to my bedroom.’

He nods and I lead him down the short corridor to my room. I can tell he’s nervous despite his obvious arousal. I flick my wand and soft lighting brightens the space.

Harry lets go of my hand and moves to sit on my four-poster. ‘So, how do we do this?’ he asks softly.

I smile and sit beside him and take his hand, kissing his palm.

‘It’s very important that you follow all of the rules very carefully,’ I say. I stand up and remove my shirt, letting it fall to the ground beside me. 

His eyes rove my naked chest and he swallows hard. ‘I’m not brilliant at rules.’

I grin at him. ‘Lucky for you, these rules are very easy to follow. The first one…’ I drop to my knees in front of him and he automatically parts his legs for me. I slide my hands down his jean-clad calves and remove his shoes and socks.

‘The first one is to _relax_.’

He laughs and I push his chest, encouraging him to lie on his back while I climb on the bed beside him. 

‘The second rule… is to enjoy it.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to be difficult,’ Harry says, still smiling.

I place my hand on his chest and feel his heart galloping beneath my palm. I lower my head and brush his lips with mine and I know I’m going to have to hold back; I want him to remember every second of this.

I lower my hand and slide it beneath Harry’s t-shirt and his muscles twitch from my touch. I push the shirt up and help him to pull it off over his head. Then, I reach for the button on his jeans and slowly pull it from its hole, and the zipper follows. I find that I can’t wait to see his cock; I imagine it hard and pink and leaking and my stomach gives a leap.

I pull at the top of his jeans and he obediently lifts his hips to allow me to remove them. I discard them on the floor and pause for a few moments to just look at him. 

‘You’re gorgeous,’ I tell him softly. 

He smiles crookedly at me, and I lean down to kiss him again, holding him behind his neck. I push his jaw up gently and begin to kiss and lick his neck, smiling at the small noises he’s making that vibrate against my lips. He’s panting as I move lower down the bed, kissing the warm skin of his chest and his belly that smells of soap and cologne. I like it, but I much prefer to smell just _him_.

I trail my lips and tongue down his stomach again; I can feel his cock against me as he squirms and it heightens my arousal. I dip my tongue into the depression of his navel and his hips jerk as he moans. I pause for a moment to wonder whether he’s ever had a blowjob, but I find I don’t really need to know the answer.

I slip my fingers beneath the band of his pants and slowly slide them down, revealing a dark trail of hair, then I lift the pants and he’s completely exposed to me.

He’s beautiful; I knew he would be. I look up at Harry’s face, and he’s looking right back at me, his lips parted as he pants. His eyes are dark and intense and I feel a jolt in my stomach.

‘May I?’ I ask, lifting an eyebrow. 

He nods quickly and he watches me as I first stroke him gently with my forefinger, and then wrap my hand around him, learning texture, feeling each ridge and vein. I can’t control the moan of longing that escapes me when a bead of pre-come leaks out on to my fingers.

I taste him with the tip of my tongue, smiling at his muttered curse. Then, I open my mouth and take him in.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Harry gasps and I rather feel like my unasked question has been answered.

He undulates beneath me, and I take more of his cock into my mouth, my movements slow but rhythmic as I use the noises he makes as a guide to what he likes. 

Harry’s hands fist in my hair as I quicken my pace, and even though it hurts, I love that I’m making him feel this way. I take him in deeper, reaching my hand up to his sac and rolling his balls gently in my hand. 

It’s less than a minute later when I feel him shudder and he arches off the bed, coming down my throat, hot, hard and loud and I swallow him down. The idea that I’m the first person to make him come like this is heady and I feel a bit light-headed. I look up at him and grin.

‘I’m sorry!’ he says, covering his face with his hands. He’s blushing scarlet. 

‘Don’t,’ I say to him, pulling his hands away. ‘You taste fantastic.’

If anything, he blushes even more, but eventually he smiles at me. 

‘That was amazing.’

I press a kiss to his belly as I move up the bed beside him. I’m still hard and aching, but I sense that he needs a few minutes to recover before I suggest the next step to his de-flowering, and I spend the time stroking his face and his chest, my lips following the path of my fingertips.

Eventually, he turns on his side to face me, and I can see it in his eyes that he’s ready. He looks down at my trousers which are displaying my hard-on. 

‘May I?’ he asks with a cheeky grin and quirks an eyebrow.

I laugh. ‘Please do.’

He reaches over and unbuckles my belt and opens the fastenings in quick succession before pulling them down off my hips. He stares for a few moments at the bulge in my pants and I hope he’s not reconsidering the whole thing. I wouldn’t blame him, but I can’t say I won’t be disappointed.

I’m not however, as he grasps the elastic on my pants and pulls them off, just as slowly as I did his. I can see his eyes widen as he takes in the view of my prick. He then licks his lips and looks up at me.

‘What do you like?’

‘Touch me like you’d touch yourself,’ I tell him.

I see him gulp, and he closes his hand around my cock. I sigh happily. It’s been so long since anyone but me has done this; I love the feel of his hand as he strokes me, warm and firm, eased along by the pre-come that’s dribbled down my length.

‘Like this?’ he asks.

‘Yes, just like that,’ I reply. 

Harry’s eyes are on my cock and he looks mesmerised. My breath catches as his strokes become faster and his eyes flick up to mine. He licks his lips and lowers his head and my eyes can’t help but fall closed as his mouth closes over the head of my prick. I moan and my hips flex up as he takes me in a little deeper, his hand working up and down following with his mouth. The wet sucking noises he’s making are driving me crazy.

I’m getting close, too close. ‘Easy,’ I murmur. ‘I don’t want to come yet.’

I still his movements with my hands and he pulls off my cock, looking worried. 

‘I want to come inside you,’ I say softly.

‘Oh.’

I mentally kick myself. I’ve been insensitive and I hope I haven’t scared him off.

‘If you’re not ready, it’s OK,’ I say, reaching down to touch his face. He’s beautiful like this; his lips are pink and swollen, his eyes dark.

‘No, I-I want you to. It’s just…’ He smiles and blushes. ‘You taste good, too. I was enjoying myself.’

I chuckle. ‘You can enjoy yourself again any time you like… After this.’

‘You take all the fun out of life,’ he says lightly, but I see him swallow hard and I know he’s nervous again. I pull on his arms and he crawls back up the bed to my face. 

I kiss him gently before I roll him onto his back. ‘You’ll like this too, I promise.’

I get down between his legs again and encourage him to lift his knees keeping his feet flat on the mattress. I try not to ogle, as I’m sure Harry must feel a little self-conscious - I know I was my first time like this - and I lean over to open the drawer of my nightstand and fetch a small tube of lubricant.

I drizzle a few drops on my fingers and rub them together to spread it around and warm it up, and then I turn my attention back to Harry.

I’m thrilled to see that he’s getting hard again, and I concentrate on his cock for a few minutes, taking him in my mouth again, feeling him twitch beneath me, listening to his moans and gasps. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing him.

I release his cock, and spread his thighs further apart and bring my fingers up to rub his arsehole. He twitches violently at my touch but doesn’t move away. I make tiny wet circles with my fingertip until I can feel him loosen up.

‘Take a deep breath,’ I say gently.

He does and I slip the tip of my finger inside of him.

‘Now breathe out.’ 

I push the rest of my finger inside of him and I see the grimace of pain on his face.

‘Just relax,’ I say soothingly. ‘It won’t hurt for long.’

I allow him the time he needs to get used to the sensation and I return my attention to his cock until I feel it’s safe to add another finger. 

‘Fuck,’ he mutters when I’ve breached him again, this time going straight to massage his prostate.

I’m getting anxious and I resist the urge to reach between my legs and stroke my prick. This orgasm is for Harry, not for me.

I slowly remove my hand from between his legs and get to my knees, pulling his thighs around me. I carefully take my cock in my hand and guide it to his opening, rubbing once, twice, until I know I’m not going to be able to handle it if he even moves. I take a deep, calming breath and lock my eyes with his. 

He reaches out and puts his hand on my arm, encouraging me to go ahead. 

I groan loudly as I push into him, slowly at first, but unable to stop the snap that follows when I’m inside his tight heat.

I balance myself on my arms and thrust into him again and again, leaning forward to kiss his face; his nose; his eyelids.

His hands are around my waist and he pulls me in deeper and slows my movements. He’s moaning and keening and grinding his hips against mine, and when he reaches his hand between our bodies to grasp his cock, I forget how to breathe.

I’m getting close again, but this time I don’t hold off. I lower myself to my elbows and hold Harry close to me and breathe him in. His hand is still moving frantically up and down between us, and I push into him, gasping when he flexes around me, and then I’m coming hard and hot inside of him, throbbing and shuddering.

It’s delicious and so utterly satisfying when he gasps his completion a moment later, and we fall slowly to stillness.

:-:

I watch Harry as he sleeps, his face relaxed and peaceful. I feel a bit like a crazy stalker, but my mind is still blown that I’ve been Harry Potter’s first lover and I can’t stop looking at him.

I touch my lips where his have been, remembering the hungry way he kissed me, when I whispered in his ear that I love him.

My stomach jolts pleasantly and I curl up behind Harry and place my arm over him, holding him to me. Eventually, I fall asleep breathing in his scent, my lips at his neck.

When I wake up in the morning, Harry isn't there. For a moment, I think he's fled, but then I hear noises from outside and get up to investigate.

All of his clothes are still in my room and I wonder what exactly he’s wearing if not them; mine are still there as well. I go to the bathroom and find that my pyjama bottoms are missing from where they usually hang on the wall. I pull another pair from the cupboard and put them on. The smell of fresh coffee is permeating my bedroom and I realise I’m starving.

I find Harry in the kitchen with his back to me and his hands busy stirring something in a bowl. The radio is on and he’s singing along to and old song about a love shack. He hasn’t noticed me enter yet and I sit down on a stool at the kitchen counter which also serves as my breakfast bar. Harry has already been through my cabinets and has laid the table for two. 

‘Good morning,’ I say quietly, grinning as he jumps and turns around.

‘Hi,’ he says and copies my grin. ‘Are you hungry? I’m making eggy bread.’

‘Starving,’ I tell him. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Like the dead,’ he says.

‘The dead? That’s a bit morbid. Isn’t the phrase ‘sleep like a baby’?’

Harry laughs and dips a thick slice of bread into the mixture in the bowl. ‘Trust me when I tell you babies don’t sleep.’

Fair enough. I know Harry used to watch Teddy as a baby and quite a few of his friends have gone on and had babies of their own. As I watch him cook our breakfast, I wonder if he’d one day like to cook breakfast for his own children. Our children. The thought frightens me a little bit. We’ve made love once and already I’m thinking of raising children with him!

‘Coffee?’ he asks, the pot suspended in mid-air.

‘Yes, please.’ I grasp the pot and pour myself a cup and take a sip.

I’m soon distracted by the way Harry’s arms look as he flips the bread in the pan; the way his hair catches the glow of sunlight from the window beside him; the way his lips moves as he softly mouths the words of the next song on the radio.

My eyes drop lower and I take in how good he looks wearing my pyjamas, and I lick my lips thinking of his cock rubbing against the fabric. I abandon my coffee for the moment and get up to stand behind him, placing my hands over his hips and pulling him back just enough to feel the hardness growing between my legs.

‘I’m not particularly hungry for eggy bread anymore,’ I say quietly.

His hands still and he leans back against me. ‘Really? And what might you be hungry for instead, then?’

‘I’ve a few ideas.’

We don’t make it back to the bedroom, and it’s only a short while later that we’re lying naked on the floor of my kitchen, sweaty and panting, but sated once more.

‘I think I prefer the bed,’ Harry says, rubbing his knees which are red and will probably be bruised. In my haste to be inside him again, I’ve forgotten a courtesy Cushioning Charm.

‘Sorry,’ I say, and I roll over to press my lips against them. ‘I was just too hungry.’

My stomach growls then and we laugh.

‘Proper breakfast?’ he asks.

‘Proper breakfast,’ I reply.

:-:

It’s late on Sunday evening and Harry and I are sitting out on my porch with a half-finished bottle of wine and two glasses between us - a nightcap before we head back to bed.

‘I suppose we’ve got to go back to reality after this, then,’ Harry says with a sigh. ‘I shudder to think what my post looks like.’

I hide a smile behind my wineglass.

Harry doesn’t know it yet, but while he was asleep this morning, I popped into the office to check up on the next day’s reports and found an envelope on my desk containing several very lewd photographs of Mr Barnabas Cuffe and Ms Rita Skeeter together in Barnabas’ office. The _Daily Prophet’s_ policy is clear on no fraternisation between employees. 

I certainly understand now how Rita still gets herself printed in the _Prophet_.

There’s no note or name attached to the photos, but I whisper a ‘thank you’ to whoever might be listening in.

I quickly made copies and left the originals on Barnabas’ desk for him to find in the morning with a short note letting him know that Mr Harry Potter is a great friend of the owner of the _Prophet_ and if he wishes to keep his job, he might want to think about printing a public apology to Mr Harry Potter on behalf of the whole newspaper. Then, I brazenly leave a large space on the front page of Monday’s paper for this purpose.

Deeply pleased with myself I returned to my flat and got back into bed with Harry none the wiser.

We finish our wine and I take Harry’s hand and pull him to his feet.

‘I think you’ll find that things will look better in the morning,’ I tell him airily.

‘Will they?’ he asks me archly. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice that you left this morning to go to the office. What did you do?’

My lips twitch into a smile. ‘Can’t put anything past you, can I?’

Harry shakes his head and stands firmly, his arms folded over his chest. ‘Out with it.’

‘Let’s just say the tables have turned on a certain journalist, and possibly an editor.’

Harry’s eyes widen. ‘What are you saying?’

‘That’s all I’m saying. Now, I do believe you’ve been waiting to _enjoy yourself_ a little bit more whilst keeping your mouth occupied by _not_ asking me more ridiculous questions?’

He swats at my arm again playfully and I allow myself to be dragged along to the bedroom.

:-:

_One year later…_

‘Draco, I can’t believe you did this.’

I look up from my desk where I’m reading a highly enjoyable piece from a young _Prophet_ journalist on the latest Ministry gossip. 

‘Did what?’

Harry, having argued his way into my office again, shakes the newspaper in my face and I take it from him and open it out.

‘Dear me,’ I say. ‘They call this a classy paper?’

Harry’s arms are folded and he’s glaring at me in that way that means I’m in trouble. Not a lot, mind, but enough.

‘After last year… Really?’

‘Honestly, Harry. I had no idea.’

Harry’s face reddens. ‘You’re the _editor_!’

I squint up at Harry apologetically. ‘Perhaps the staff went a little overboard? They asked if they could print a little piece in the paper when I told them, and I said it would be all right.’

‘You are an absolute git, you know that, right?’

I laugh and put the paper down on my desk and get up to take Harry in my arms. He struggles for a few moments, but eventually he relaxes and leans his head against my shoulder.

‘ _Absolute Git_ would look a tad strange in the headline I’m afraid.’

‘ _Wanker_ might suit better,’ Harry mutters while shaking his head. ‘The front-fucking-page, _again_.’

‘It’ll blow over, it always does,’ I say soothingly. 

Lyra passes my door and waves and I wink at her over Harry’s shoulder. I smile down at the paper on my desk, the front page showing a ridiculously flattering picture of Harry and me outside our townhouse topped by the headline:

**THE CHOSEN ONE CHOOSES HIS ONE! Harry Potter to wed _Daily Prophet_ Editor-in-Chief this Autumn. More on Page Three.**

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very welcome here or over at [LiveJournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/88417.html).


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